Chapter 12

Thank the Powers that Be ... my vacation resumed being sun, fun and boring.

You're welcome.

I'll be switched ... it's the Powers.

'Hey.'

What?

'Is my life going to be normal?'

Oh no Missy. That is out of our MOS.

'MOS?'

Military Occupational Specialty code

'You're military?'

Damn it, Danny! We can't leave you alone for five seconds!

Sorry, guys.

'Military, huh?' Sometimes it pays to ask twice.

'I asked a question. Military?' No answer ... but I could hear breathing.

There was a good fifty sixty seconds of silence.

'Fuckers!'

uproarious laughter

Yeah, my life was boring, except ... why is there always an 'except'? ... for the Coast Guard's demand that I clear out the new boat.

"It's taking up space on Federal Property, Wendy," said the Chief.

"Yes, sir."

I needed someone who had an inkling ... Anderson Salvage was under new ownership. I called anyway. When there is only one game in town and you're a player...

"Anderson," she said.

"Hi, I'm Wendy Too and I'd..." I started to respond...

She cut me off, "My name isn't Wendy."

"Oh ... I get it. I'm Miss Austin. I'd like to talk to someone about a tow job."

"You want Cindy, although I don't know why a girl would want a blow job. We do salvage work. Cindy works the Antler Friday and Saturday nights." I thought I heard a faint slice of sarcasm ... Either that or...

I am beset with idiots. I'm sure it's a government conspiracy.

"I have a boat I need towed." I said.

"Oh ... You need to talk to the owner." 'I know ... you won't let me.'

"Alright, put him on," I requested.

"Can't, he's in the South Pacific."

"Who is running the place?" I was afraid of the answer. I was right.

"I am."

I sighed, "Can you help me?"

"Probably not."

"This is Anderson Salvage?"

"Yes, can I help you?"

"Who does your towing work when the Salvor is away?"

"Mr. Anderson."

"May I speak to him?"

"Just a minute. He's fishing at our dock. He's old and slow."

Without covering the mouthpiece or even pulling it away from her mouth, she hollered, "ANDY! TELEPHONE!"

When I could hear again I asked, "Who am I speaking to?"

"You should rather say, 'To whom am I speaking?'"

"I know you ... you're Mrs. Anderson ... school teacher. Now I understand what the kids say about you."

"Oh?" She voiced a specific question with that 'Oh?'

"Not on your life." I am not a stool pigeon.

I heard Mrs. Anderson tell Mr. Anderson my name.

Mr. Anderson took the phone. "Anderson." Mr. Anderson sounded like a 'take charge' man.

"Mr. Anderson, I have a boat I need towed ... today."

"From where to where?"

"Ludington Coast Guard Basin to the Boat Works ... If I can get them to work on it."

"How big?"

"Ninety-seven."

"Big Money?"

"Yes, Sir."

"What needs to be done?"

"Hauled, dried, pickled, and thoroughly cleaned. Storage for the year." I needed it out of the water, dried out, the engines drained and preserved and someone to make it pretty again. And inside storage.

"Are you the girl with the big sailboat? Wendy the second?" Nobody gets it right.

"I own a big sailboat but I'm Wendolyn Too. That's Tee ... Oh ... Oh."

"I'll be at your dock in fifteen minutes." He said, "Bring money."

"How much?"

"Thousand for me ... Boat Doc is going to want a deposit of a pretty fair amount. Maybe five grand?"

"I can do that."

I knocked on Momma's door.

"Go away, Wendy," Daddy said, he sounded ... out of breath?

"Momma, I need ten thousand."

"You know where it is," she moaned. "Oh God!" She's been calling daddy God often.

I shrugged ... and ran down to the boat. I picked up the ladder and locked it to the overhead. This revealed the safe. The combination is my birthday backwards. I need to change that, but not today. I grabbed a bundle, shut the safe and spun the dial. I felt a gentle bump as the tug nudged the dock. Mr. Anderson tooted his horn. I unlatched the ladder and let it down, stuffed the bundle in my purse and ran to the tug. Mr. Anderson was standing on deck with a single line around the dock bollard.

"Got money?" he asked.

"Yes sir."

He stuck out his hand.

"I need to count it. You have someplace?"

He pointed to a little cubbyhole ... I suppose someone somewhere would call it a cabin. I certainly didn't. I counted out ten one hundred dollar bills. Shit... 1928 or older. Two of them were payable in gold ... it's what I had ... and what you have is what gets spent.

'Wendy?' Mom was in my brain.

'Mother?'

'Your language is unbecoming to a girl of your tender years. You know what is going to happen when you get home?'

'FUCK!'

'See?'

I paid the man and started to get off the boat. Mom was going to clean up my act ... I hate the taste of soap.

"Where do you think you're going?"

"Home."

"Nope ... I need you to go. Someone has to steer the other boat."

Since I was pis ... upset with mother, I said, "How much you going to pay me?" I was totally unprepared for his response.

"Half," he said, "I'd have to hire help and that's what I'd pay them."

"Done," I agreed. But we weren't moving. He was looking at the money.

"This is very old ... you have given me a great gift. I collect and I don't have any of these." He pulled out his wallet and peeled out five one hundred dollar bills and gave them to me.

Then he said, "Cast off and let's get this job done."

The lake was calm, the only wave action was the wash from the freighters out in the middle of the lake. Barely noticeable by the time it got to us. Anderson's tug was old and slow but very powerful. The twenty miles to Ludington was accomplished by noon. We chugged into the Guard Basin.

The CPO stepped out of the pretty white house with the red stripe between the windows ... it was fresh paint. (Some things never change but sometimes they just go away. The guard station in Pentwater is gone. In its place is a memorial to the men who died trying to rescue others.)

The chief saw me, "Come after your junk, Wendy?" He pointed at the big yacht. "There it is. Andy! Good to see you. Where's David?"

"He's gone for awhile. Guiding an Historian to Hawaii. Sailing lessons. I wish I could have gone ... just too old."